The Jazz Musician

by Serena Tome

Circles of smoke carefully exit
His mouth, his eyes do all the talking
All night he touches me from across the room
Finally.
He comes over sits next to me
The moisture from his breathe drizzles
Down the nape of my neck evaporating
As it tickles a hot spot head down
I focus on the bubbles exploding in my drink
He candidly asks, “Can I taste it?”
My eyes quickly flank to the left as I respond “My place or yours?”


*www.serenatome.blogspot.com